Work Text:
Brook's thumbs tapped furiously on her screen as she muttered aloud:
"If this is my last article, I only hope it makes a difference to the world. And that nothing more deserving of a posthumonous Pulitzer happens in the world. Wishing for world peace, a cessation of genocide, and a safe and efficient response to every natural disaster is a noble thing for anyone to hope for, but for now, I would appreciate a way out...or for this Tyrannosaurus to develop a sudden cold that clogs up her nose so she doesn't smell me out."
The sound of flaring nostrils could not have come at a more obnoxious time had it been cued. Brook caught her breath and continued typing:
"I know the films and shows have the last message spoken into a camera or a phone, but as a longtime proponent of the written word, I'm going to stick to my guns. Live by the word, die by the word."
Another paragraph done, another message sent.
"Though it would be nice, Darius," she hissed, annoyance pushing her voice out loud as she typed the next line. "If you could come to the rescue or something. You know I'd have your back if you wanted to make a distraction or something."
Instinctively, her thumb hit "send", and the thought of that being her final message to him crossed her mind.
"Ugh!" she sighed with regret, then clapped her hand to her mouth as she heard a loud snorting snarl echo.
"Just gave away my position, moving to new location," Brook typed, then stuffed her phone in her pocket and began to run as the loud footsteps of the dinosaur approached, and she heard a splintering of wood as the gazebo collapsed behind her. The T. rex was hot on her heels, but as she broke into a sprint, she saw a restaurant ahead. It wasn't going to last long, but it had to have a back door, which meant she could escape through it...
The front door opened before she could get there, and it was not someone trying to pull her inside to safety. Pale white, striped with black lines and glittering sharply with claws at the end of each limb, a smaller dinosaur looked at her with sinister red eyes: a Velociraptor. It grinned at her with razor-sharp teeth, crusted with what Brook hoped was raw hamburger...and that was when Brook realized she was way too close.
She tried to turn, but she skidded on the smooth white pavement; her foot caught a crack, and she sprawled on the ground right in front of the pale dinosaur. The carnivore leered down at her and advanced slowly: Brook began to crawl backward, knowing there was no way to stand and escape...but the thud of giant footsteps behind her told her “escape” was not an option anyway. The white dinosaur lifted its head, and Brook followed the creature's gaze without thought: in the upside-down world above her, she saw the dark, square, spiky head of the Tyrannosaurus looking down at her. Perhaps it was the hopelessness of the situation, but Brook felt her panic wind down into a strange, calm recess of final hope.
"Okay, this is it," she whispered aloud. "These two are going to fight each other, they're much more interested in one another than a snack like me..."
But she looked back down at the dinosaur in front of her, and its eyes were very much fixed on her. The head was cocked, measuring the distance, and she heard the low rumble of the big one's growl behind her.
"Right," Brook murmured, feeling her plan evaporate. "They can communicate...thanks, Luthor."
It was a terrible choice of last words, but there was no time to come up with something better, as the white dinosaur flared its jaws in a snarling shriek. Flecks of hamburger--definitely hamburger— pelted Brook's face, and she raised her arm to shield herself...as if that would stop the lunging jaws that followed.
Something struck her face, but it didn't feel like a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. They should have hit her arm, anyway...Brook opened her eyes: the jaws had stopped. Not on her arm, but on someone else's! An arm in a blue sleeve, attached to a hand that was far too dark to be Brook's...and, apparently a lot more durable, Brook realized as she instinctively reached down to pick up the object that had struck her face and identified it as a curved, pointed tooth. That would have torn right through her...
"Steady there!" a deep voice snapped her senses back in order, and Brook looked back up with confused recognition.
"Darius?" she said, but the tall figure who had appeared between her and the dinosaur turned his head, and, no, this was someone else: his skin and hair were similar in tone, but he was taller. Broader in the shoulders, even though he was wearing a tight blue outfit instead of a bulky suitcoat.
Brook blushed.
"Sorry! Sorry!" she said. "I thoguht you were—but you're—!”
"The 'Mystery Martian', as they call me?!" the Mystery Martian said, reaching forward and prising the dinosaur's teeth from his arm. Brook saw a massive yellow cape ripple beside him as he shoved the dinosaur away. "Yeah. But, first, we need to get you--"
He disappeared in an instant, the jaws of the Tyrannosaurus Rex closing around him with a loud cracsh.
Brook gasped and rolled out of the way as the animal's giant hind leg slammed down right where she had been standing: she crawled on all fours for a moment, began to stand, ducked a swinging tail, and then took five steps further before she turned to look back at where the hero had just been devoured: but no, the Tyrannosaurus was stumbling around now, pawing at her teeth with her arms, trying to dislodge the man standing in her mouth, his arms forcing the top jaw up.
"Whoa now! Whoa now! Easy! Easy!" the superhero called. "Your friend there just broke five teeth on my arm--do you know what would have happened if I hadn't fit inside? You're smarter than that!"
Brook looked down at the tooth in her hand and noted the crack...then she realized that she should have a phone in that hand. She shoved the tooth into the pocket of her jeans as the giant dinosaur roared in frustration, then pulled out her recording phone. Her other hand found the pocket on the seat of her pants and pulled out her primary phone. She bypassed typing and switched it straight to voice recording:
"Brook Lane reporting, audio mode. There's a chance that I'll be able to collect my Pulitzer myself after all: after being cornered by two dinosaurs, I was rescued by what I can only assume is Metropolis's mysterious hero. Despite claims that he's an alien, he appears to be a man...six feet tall, dark skin, darker hair, wearing a bright yellow cape and what I can only describe as blue pajamas. He's currently fighting off two dinosaurs, which are working together thanks to Lewis Luthor's programming, which seems to have received far more funding than the containment systems of this park exhibit. I've moved to a safe location just outside the door of a restaurant, but my rescuer is still fighting...even though it looks like he's playing. The dinosaurs appear to be unable to hurt him, and he does not seem to want to hurt the dinosaurs—wait, there are two, no, three more dinosaurs now. Stand by, switching to text.”
Brook set her camera phone on the sidewalk, leaning it against the stone curb at the base of the restaurant's outer wall: that should be able to capture most of the footage. Brook lifted the other phone to her face and switched back to typing, pulling Darius up on her messages.
The stranger was talking, so she texted his words to him:
“Okay, I know you want your friends to help you, but can you maybe tell them to just back off? I don't you dealing with any more broken teeth.”
“He's raising his arms,” Brook typed, not daring to glance at the screen, her experience and expertise the only thing assuring that this might be legible. “Making eye contact with them like a professional trainer at the zoo. There's five dinosaurs, one Tyrannosaurus and four Velociraptors. The white raptor is wounded and upset, and seems to be leading the four others. The T. rex is angry and frustrated. They don't seem to be able to hurt this man, but they're not leaving...now they're attacking, all from the same side. He's moving quickly, his hands are a blur, he's just...shoving them, he's shoving them--”
She jumped back as one of the dinosaurs skidded at her: there was another blur of blue and gold, and suddenly the man was in front of her, his arms spread wide behind him. She saw a massive triangle on his chest: yellow and red, with a shape like an “S” in a diamond.
“Sorry about that, Miss Lane,” he said. “I...”
He glanced down at the recording phone she'd set up, and his apologetic face was suddenly transformed into a look of deep thought. Deep thought turned into a smile of tacit comprehension, and he straightened his head and looked up above her: Brook followed his gaze and saw the dark ball of a security camera right above her head. She saw his reflection in the ball, watched him tilt his head slightly to the right (her left), and she looked back at him again to find his eyes shifting up to a nearby pole.
“Miss Lane,” he said firmly. “If I could ask you to run inside the building for a minute, find a refrigerator, and lock yourself inside...”
“What???” Brook gasped. “Don't you have this under control?”
A raptor leaped through the air and clung to the man's back, chomping angrily at his shoulder.
“I do, but I need to go somewhere else in a minute,” he said slowly and firmly, apparently more concerned about that than the two animals who were clawing at his outfit. “Go inside. Turn right, there's the door to the kitchen in front of you, turn left, walk down the cooking line, the fridge is on your right, there's an emergency lock inside. Red button. Push it. It's going to be cold, but I'll be back before five minutes pass.”
“No way!” Brook yelled as another raptor lunged forward, snarling and trying to duck under his arm: he wrapped his arm around it and seized it in a headlock. “I'm getting the story in full right here.”
She looked down at her phone and typed:
“He told me to run inside and hide like a civilian...”
“Miss Lane, you are a civilian--”
“And how do you know my name?” she snapped.
“I'm a fan of your column.”
Brook looked down at the words she'd transcribed and then back up at the man buried in three writhing dinosaurs. She felt herself blushing.
“What?”
“And if you go in that fridge, I'll fill you in on everything when I get you out.”
“An exclusive interview?” Brook asked, seizing the opportunity.
“One-on-one.”
Brook jabbed her finger at him.
“I'm holding you to that!” she snapped. “Full interview, kitchen fridge, five minutes. Be there!”
A scuttling sound came from the ceiling above her: she looked up, and saw the fourth raptor perched on the roof, looking down.
“Got it! Go!”
Brook grabbed the metal handle and wrenched the glass door open: there was no way to lock it, so she ignored that, turning right and running toward the kitchen door. It was all laid out just like he said: a left turn, and the sleek, silver line of an industrial kitchen island guided her back toward the supply shelves. She navigated a minefield of scattered raw hamburger patties, slipped past the stoves with burning sauces and boiling pots that had been abandoned in the chaos of the evacuation. And there, on the right, the fridge. She pulled the door open, hauled herself inside, and slammed it shut.
The emergency lock, the emergency lock...he said. Ah! There! The big circle.
She slammed it with her hand, and the door popped wide open.
Okay, so that wasn't the lock.
Right, red button. Red button. Everything looked red in this cooler light...
She heard the sound of shattering glass and the snarl of dinosaurs: wherever the superhero had gone, the dinosaurs had not followed, and they were coming for her.
Why were they coming for her?
Brook pulled the door shut again and looked around—there. A round button just above the door, redder than everything else in this place. She jumped up and slapped it, and heard a loud click. Then she heard the clatter of pots from outside. Screeching. Snarling. Muffled through the insulated door and wall, but still audible, and unmistakably growing closer.
“This was a bad idea,” she muttered, backing deeper into the cooler. Tubs of meat and sauce lined her on either side, so maybe if they broke in, she could keep them distracted for a minute...
Something heavy slammed against the door, and Brook gasped with shock...but the door held. Another slamming sound, and the door shook again. And again. The handle clicked twice, thudding back against the door, and Brook shuddered: if that lock hadn't worked, if she hadn't been told about it, the door would have opened for the dinosaur just as easily as it had for her. How smart were these animals?
The whole cooler shook around her, and she heard a muffled roar. Then it shook again, violently enough to slosh the sauces around in their clear plastic containers. Brook realized with horror what was happening:
The Tyrannosaurus was breaking in from the outside.
Brook pulled out her phone.
“Despite the cacophony on the other side of the fridge door,” she wrote, “I find myself backing towards it. The T rex is going to come through the other side at any second. It sounds like it's tearing through the building like a can opener.”
She hit send.
“I was told to come in here and hide by our Mystery Martian. Though hopefully after today, he won't be much of a mystery. I don't know if he's a Martian, either. He looked quiet human.”
She hit send, but then saw that the first message had an “error”. No signal. The walls in here were too thick.
Well, that was a good sign...
Another thud, another shake, much closer this time. And now, she had a signal.
That was not a good sign.
“Hurry up,” she muttered. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry--”
And suddenly, it was quiet.
The snarls, the roars, the crashing, the clawing...it stopped, as if on a signal. Brook looked around in confusion, her heart now the loudest thing in her ears: was this the silence before the attack? Was it all about to be over?
She hit “resend” on the unsent messages.
“Brook Lane reporting,” she typed. “Darius, these are my words. Don't let someone scoop my own death.”
There was a confused growl from outside, and then a clicking of claws...clicking claws that grew more and more distant. And, from the other side, a deep, rumbling whine. Something scaly scraped the ceiling above her: then, there was a gentle, receding fall of footsteps...the Tyrannosaurus. Walking away.
Brook listened tensely, forcing herself to calm down...calm. Calm. Calm.
She looked down at her phone: all messages had been sent out to Darius.
But still no response.
What if...?
She frowned and typed again.
“The dinosaurs are retreating somehow. They must have something better to chase. I'm going to wait here until someone tells me it's all-clear. Would be nice if you could reply, Ty--”
Something thudded on the roof, and daylight streamed in as the ceiling was peeled away.
Brook gasped and raised her arm instinctively—but it was not a dinosaur, but the man again.
He was flying.
“You're all right?” he asked, throwing himself inside and closing the ceiling behind him.
“You tell me, Supervision,” Brook said. “Looks like the rumors were true: a man can fly. And see through walls.”
He looked surprised.
“How did--”
“You gave me perfect directions after three seconds of looking at the building and found the opening from the outside,” Brook answered dryly. “Either you have some kind of X-ray vision or you work here. And with your skillset, I highly doubt you need a day job. Why didn't you use the door, anyway?”
“I told you to lock it, remember?” He pointed to the ceiling. “The Allosaurus already damaged the roof; I figured tearing a door open wouldn't hurt, and you'd want to be out sooner.”
“Yeah.” Brook stepped toward the door, reached up, and pushed the button again: the glow stopped, and there was a click as the lock released. “Well, let's get out of here...”
She punched the button that had opened the door before, but this time, it didn't budge. She punched it again...and again...no result.
“Looks like the dinosaurs broke the door handle, anyway,” the man said behind her. “I would have had to tear the door off to get you out like that. Wouldn't want the restaurant owners to pay for that, too.”
“You're such a Boy Scout,” Brook scoffed. Then she paused, a thought occurring. She turned around with a glare. “Wait, did you just look through the door?”
The Boy Scout looked surprised at her tone.
“Um, yes. Why--”
“So you were looking through me? Including my clothes?”
He seemed to realize her implication.
“Miss Lane, I assure you, I would never--”
“Oh!” Brook crossed her arms indignantly. “What, am I not good enough for you?”
“Miss Lane--”
Wow,, this guy was almost as fun to antagonize as Darius. Brook marched up to him and looked up into his nervous face, which also looked oddly like Darius's in this lighting...a suspicion took hold of her, and she reached out...and took a swing at his shoulder.
“I'm kidding—OW!”
Her fist connected, and, wow, no, that was not Darius. She might as well have punched the door again. Brook pulled her hand back and clutched at her injured knuckles.
“Okay, hold on, are you actually made out of steel or something?”
“I think people are calling me something like that. Did you think they were joking?”
“No, but you'd think I'd have worked it out for myself after watching you play chew-toy to a pack of man-eating dinosaurs for two whole minutes,” she noted. “But there's enough made-up stuff in the average tabloid to make a whole TV show. I like to find things out for myself. You've been pretty well-hidden for the last three months for someone who keeps popping up every time there's a disaster. So is that the suit that makes you strong like that? You just some Average Joe with a magic cape and nanotech armor? Or is it your Martian DNA”
“Is this your exclusive interview?”
Brook grinned through chattering teeth.
“It might be.”
“It's my Martian DNA. Though, it's not technically Martian. I want to clarify that right now: I'm from somewhere much farther away.”
“And somewhere cold, I guess,” Brook scoffed, rubbing her arms. “I'm seeing my breath in this place, and you don't look bothered at all.”
“Do you want to take this outside, Miss Lane?” He gestured to the ceiling.
“Oh, no you don't, Boy Scout!” Brook smirked. “The moment we fly outside, Channel Two's chopper is gonna show up, and they'll try poaching you from me. Or you'll just fly off when things get uncomfortable. But right now, I'm trapped in a fridge, and I know you're not gonna let me freeze to death in—”
There was a blur of yellow in front of her, a ripple of fabric, and Brook fell silent as she felt a weight across her shoulders: the Mystery Martian had removed his cape and slung it over her. It fell tight against her arms, and she warmed up immediately...even her cheeks burned, and they weren't even covered.
“Oh...”
“I hope it's not presumptuous of me, Miss Lane, but I thought it would be rude to leave you uncomfortable.”
Boy Scout.
Brook swallowed and nodded, composing herself: she was a professional. She pulled out her phone and opened the message to herself: no need to send these messages to Darius now that she wasn't in danger.
“All right, first, I should start with your name. Am I recording you as 'Mystery Martian' or 'Boy Scout'?”
“Well, again, I'm not a Martian--”
“'Boy Scout' it is.” She made a note. “Actually, I don't think there's any good way to shortform that, so let's go with a better name: where are you from? Jupiter? Saturn?”
“My planet doesn't exist anymore--”
“Pluto?”
“Much further, actually. From a different star system.”
“So you're less a Mystery Martian and more a Super Starman?”
He bobbled his arms a little. “Kinda, sorta...”
“Well, bad news for you, Boy Scout. I've got a cute coworker who calls me 'Superstar', so you're treading too close to my copyright. We're just gonna go with Super-Man.”
Super-Man smiled quizzically.
“Isn't that a little gendered?”
“It's grounded, Super-Man." She jabbed the S-shaped mark on his chest to emphasize her point. "You look like us, you talk like us, you're one of us. Welcome to the human race. But I'll tell you what, I'm gonna take out the hyphen. More human, less manly-man.”
She pulled the cape a little tighter around her shoulders.
“So, tell me, Superman, you could have put those dinosaurs down in a matter of seconds. Why not?”
“Well, I think it was you who once wrote that life deserves to be protected,” Superman said, leaning against the wall, clearly unbothered by the chill of the fridge. “And just because the dinosaurs broke out and caused some damage doesn't mean they're evil. They're just doing what dinosaurs do.”
“Except we both know that was not what dinosaurs do,” Brook observed. “They appeared very aggressive and coordinated. Almost as if they were being controlled.”
Superman nodded.
“Exactly. I had my suspicions, but there was no sign of a brain control chip or guidance system in any of their heads. Not even a dinosaur contact lens. So there was no sense to how they were being guided. But when I saw your camera recording, that's when I realized what was happening: there were cameras everywhere in the area.”
Brook's eyes widened, and she completed the revelation herself:
“Cameras someone could use to watch everything and direct the dinosaurs from inside the park!”
“Exactly. Even without a neural implant, they could watch, and it was simply a matter of transmitting commands...and once I knew that, I started looking for radio waves and listening for ultra and subsonic frequencies.”
“The kind elephants and dogs can hear, but not humans,” Brook concluded. “So, you used your Superhearing...Superhearing, Super-vision, Super-smelling, is there anything you can't do? Can you read my mind?”
Superman chuckled.
“No, but I can read the reflection of your phone screen in your eyes.”
Brook shut her eyes.
“How about now?”
She didn't need superhearing to hear the snort of his smirk. “No, Miss Lane. Not now. But you'll want to open your eyes so you can keep writing: I heard two frequencies—subsonic for the Allosaurus, ultrasonic for the Atrociraptors. Both of them were coming from the same source: the park speakers. I went to the control room to shut them all down, and found a strange woman operating the system in a secret side room. One of the park's security handlers. She tried to run, and I shut off the system and turned her over to the authorities before coming back to you.”
“That was...really fast,” Brook noted. “Speaking of the park staff, my coworker, Darius Kent, was investigating the handlers here because of the wage dispute. Was he there? Was he hurt? He's a little smaller than you, but similar skintone and wilder hair...”
“There were a lot of people,” Superman admitted. “I did see a man arguing with security when I flew in, though. He said he was with the Daily World, wanted to make sure everyone was out...”
“Did his coat look like it was afraid of ironing boards?” Brook asked dryly.
Superman looked very caught-off-guard by that one.
“....yes?”
“That's Typo-Nerd,” Brook scoffed, but she also felt relief: so he was alive.
Which meant he was in trouble for not answering any of her texts!
“So a disgruntled handler sets a bunch of dinosaurs loose on the day Lewis Luthor comes to show off the new dinosaur exhibit in Metro Park...sounds like a pretty obvious, if clunky, assassination attempt. Did they get Luthor? Was he hurt?”
“No, his security team got him away,” Superman said. “In fact, I don't know if Luthor was even the target. They seemed to have a very vested interest in you. Any reason why that might be?”
Brook raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.
“Now, hold on, Superman, I'm the one asking the questions here.”
“I'm serious,” he said firmly. “Do you know any reason why Luthor might want to silence a journalist covering the opening of a genetic animal exhibit?”
Brook shook the cape from her shoulders.
“If you're going to start pressing me for information, you're going to have to ask me in a more comfortable location.” She reached up with the cape and slung it around Superman's shoulders, leaned in with a smile, breathed so the mist whispered up to her tall rescuer's chin. “Maybe drop by my place for dinner sometime? I can give you my address if you can't find it.”
Superman frowned.
“Miss Lane, I'm just concerned...”
“Fine. I won't give you my address. You'll have to stalk me the old-fashioned way. But it's getting cold in here. Care to fly me to safety?”
Superman sighed.
“Very well, Miss Lane.”
He reached for her, but Brook moved faster, leaping straight into his chest: he stumbled back, raising his arms, and caught her exactly as she planned. She leaned back in his arms, smirking up at his face.
“Up, up, and away?” she asked.
“The ceiling's still blocked, you know.”
“Use your shoulders then, Big Guy. And I guess 'phase through objects' isn't in your skillset, either. Come on! I'm freezing here.”
He curled his arms and pulled her to his chest: Brook felt her skin burn a little as it pressed against his suit, like she'd just stepped out into the sunlight, even though it was still dark in here. Unable to help herself, she reached up with her right hand and pressed it against the left side of his chest...
And sure enough, there was a heartbeat beneath it.
She blushed again, and then, suddenly, the walls sank away. Superman nudged his head up, shoving it into the corner of the ceiling: there was a groant of weight above them, and Brook instinctively tucked her limbs in...but the world was suddenly brilliant with sunlight, and then it turned, and they were out. They were flying
She was flying.
She'd flown helicopters for years, but this? This was different. There was no machinery to understand, no physics to comprehend, she was in the arms of a space alien, flying over the red rooftops and green trees that had towered over her just a few minutes ago, looking down on the white sidewalks and black roads along which she'd fled. This shouldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening, but it was...and as soon as she understood, Brook Lane reveled in it.
She clung to him, not because she was afraid he would drop her, but because she wanted this man in her arms right now. Why should he have all the fun? If she clung to him, it felt almost like she was carrying him—she was keeping him aloft, instead of his strange alien powers. Could see see through him? Could she read his mind?
She looked up, but his face was looking around.
“You want me to take you to your coworker? Kent, you called him?”
“Are you kidding me?” Brook scoffed. “The guy hasn't answered my texts at all, hasn't checked in on me at all. If his phone's not dead, he's dead, and I don't want him dying of jealousy because he saw you carrying me in before I can kill him myself.”
“You're an interesting person, Miss Lane.”
“If it keeps you reading, that's the idea.” Brook pointed down at a park bench on a tall hill. “Right there. That'll do.”
“Sure thing, Su...Miss Lane.”
Something in his pause distracted Brook from the incredible view below, and she turned her head to look up—but then they were falling, no, diving in a steep swoop, and before she could gather her thoughts, they were settling on the ground, and her shoes were touching the pavement.
“Get home safely, Miss Lane.”
“You got a phone number I can call for a future interview?” Brook asked smoothly.
“Sure.” Superman gave her a cocky little salute. “But I don't think the Arctic's on your grid.”
And just like that, he was up in the sky. He passed a bird, he passed a plane, and then he was gone.
Brook tucked a strand of purple hair behind her ear, and slowly began to comprehend everything that had happened...
“Brook! Hey, Brook!”
Darius's voice snapped her back to earth, and she turned to see him running up the hill, waving his phone, gasping for breath, his suit somehow even more rumpled than ever. Brook scowled and began to walk toward him.
“Oh, well, look who it is. My hero.”
Darius froze mid-pant.
“What?”
“I'm stuck in there fighting off five dinosaurs, and I hear that you couldn't even push past one lousy security guard? What's with that?”
“What? How did you—why were you with--?”
“Superman saved me.”
“Is that his name???” Darius gasped, still winded. “Sorry, B, can I...sit down a minute? You know how I am...with running...”
Brook rolled her eyes and gestured to the bench.
“Fine, go sit down. Get comfortable, because you're about to get an earful, Mister 'Doesn't Respond to My Texts'”.
“My phone battery died!” he protested. “I just got it charged to ten percent ten minutes ago...didn't you get my messages?”
Brook scowled and opened her phone: sure enough, there they were. Missed messages, all timestamped from about two minutes ago...when she'd escaped the fridge.
<Are you okay?>
<U ok?>
<B message me>
<I saw the Mystery Martian does he have you are you safe?>
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I got into a situation...guess the reception wasn't as good as I thought.”
“Reception?” Darius opened his phone and peered at his messages. “Ohhhhh...the fridge. I see. Yeah, that makes sense...good thinking, B!”
Brook sighed and sat down on the bench beside him.
“Actually, it was Superman's idea. Without his help, I think I'd be dead.”
“Without his help, I think a lot of people would be dead,” Darius said. “I saw him helping some people to safety. There were other dinosaurs...which, by the way are Atrociraptors, and not Velociraptors.”
“What?” Brook opened her eyes and glared at him. “What do you--”
Darius held up his phone with his right hand and adjusted his glasses guiltily with his left. “You said it was Velociraptors, but those are very different. Those were Atrociraptors. Bigger snouts, different place, different time...”
“Whatever, Typo-Nerd.” She sighed. “Didn't realize you were a Dino-Nerd, too...”
Darius's eyebrows furrowed into his hurt-puppy pout.
“I just like paleontology! And, also, I thought everyone knew Tyrannosurus had two fingers. Allosaurus is the one with three fingers and those eye ridges, it lived in the Jurassic, that's the one—”
“That it!” Brook snapped, standing up. “You're 'Dino-Nerd' now! Sorry about your old nickname, but you somehow found a way to be even more precocious about something than spelling!”
Darius grinned weakly.
“You mean 'particular' or 'persnickety'?”
Brook threw her head back and sighed wearily. “Ughhhhh...Kent. You're not getting your nickname back just because...”
The weariness suddenly extended beyond exaggeration: her arms felt like anchors, and her legs felt like jelly. Standing up was a mistake, but sitting back down would admit defeat, so she decided to just fall right over on the sidewalk...
Two strong hands caught her before she fell, and she found herself leaning on a soft, unyielding shoulder.
“Easy there, Superstar,” Darius said gently. “Easy...you had a long day."
“And it's not over yet,” Brook mumbled, shutting her eyes and trying to stand: once again, her legs betrayed her, and she settled for leaning further against him. His heartbeat was steady against her ear. “I've still gotta get the article written up...you'd better have all my messages.”
“I do,” Darius said, taking a slow step forward. “And, incidentally, 'professional' has one 'f' and two 's's, not two 'f's and one 's', and I think you met 'leading', not 'leafing'...”
“You can correct me when I've had my coffee,” Brook mumbled. “Just keep walking, Dino-Nerd.”